Poilok, Morris,

Rogers, Boies, Campbell, Osgood,

Hood, Maclean, Eastman, Elliott, Blanchard, Muir,

Spencer, Wordsworth, Shelley, Keats, Whittier, Keble,

Burbidge, Eliza Cook, Milman, Swain, Mrs. Norton, Hervey, Tuckerman,
Bowles, Praed, Linen, Motherwell, Mrs. Browning, Barbauld,
Lover, Peabody, Sterling, Jones, Wilson,

Mackay, Vedder, Cooke, Willis,

Clarke, Smith.

The solitude of vast extent, untouched

By hand of art, where Nature sowed herself,

And reaped her crops; whose garments were the clouds;

Whose minstrels, brooks; whose lamps, the moon and stars; Whose organ-choir, the voice of many waters;

Whose banquets, morning dews; whose heroes, storms;

Whose warriors, mighty winds; whose lovers, flowers;
Whose orators, the thunderbolts of God;
Whose palaces, the everlasting hills;
Whose ceiling, heaven's unfathomable blue;
And from whose rocky turrets battled high,
Prospect immense spread out on all sides round,—
Lost now beneath the welkin and the main,
Now walled with hills that slept above the storms.
Most fit was such a place for musing men,
Happiest sometimes when musing without aim."
It was, indeed, a wondrous sort of bliss

The lovely bard enjoyed, when forth he walked-
Unpurposed-stood, and knew not why; sat down,
And knew not where; arose, and knew not when;
Had eyes, and saw not; ears, and nothing heard;

And sought-sought neither heaven nor earth-sought naught;
Nor meant to think; but ran, meantime, through vast

Of visionary things; fairer than aught

That was; and saw the distant tops of thoughts,

Which men of common stature never saw,

Greater than aught that largest worlds could hold,

Or give idea of, to those who read.

This bold and beautiful conception of Nature, and her influences upon a heart and intellect attuned to her ministries, is from POLLOK's Course of Time. The author, like Kirke White, became an early victim of his devotion to the Muse; for the same year that he gave his epic to the world, he had himself to bid adieu to it.

MORRIS'S Song, Woodman, spare that Tree! has not only taken its place among our household lyrics, but is not unknown abroad. It owes its existence to the following incident :-The author, some years since, was riding out with a friend in the suburbs of New

York city, and when near Bloomingdale, they observed a cottager in the act of sharpening his axe under the shadow of a noble ancestral tree. His friend, who was once the proprietor of the estate on which the tree stood, suspecting that the woodman intended to cut it down, remonstrated against the act, and accompanying the protest with a ten-dollar note, succeeded in preserving from destruction this legendary memorial of his earlier and better days. Now for the song:

Woodman, spare that tree!-touch not a single bough!

In youth it sheltered me, and I'll protect it now.
'Twas my forefather's hand that placed it near his cot;
There, woodman, let it stand,—thy axe shall harm it not.
That old familiar tree, whose glory and renown

Are spread o'er land and sea,-and wouldst thou cut it down?
Woodman! forbear thy stroke! cut not its earth-bound ties;
Oh, spare that aged oak, now towering to the skies!

When but an idle boy, I sought its grateful shade;

In all their gushing joy, here, too, my sisters played;
My mother kissed me here, my father pressed my hand,—
Forgive this foolish tear; but let that old oak stand!

My heart-strings round thee cling, close as thy bark, old friend!
Here shall the wild-bird sing, and still thy branches bend.

Old tree! the storm still brave; and, woodman, leave the spot; While I've a hand to save, thy axe shall harm it not,

This lyric is also by the same author :—

To me the world's an open book, of sweet and pleasant poetry ;
I read it in the running brook that sings its way towards the sea.
It whispers in the leaves of trees, the swelling grain, the waving

grass,

And in the cool, fresh evening breeze, that crisps the wavelets as

they pass.